The Year I Was the Other Woman To Myself novel Chapter 62

“He’s asking if you were in a hurry to leave the house,” he said, his brow furrowed slightly.

“What do you mean?”

“Your zipper is down.”

Panic flared in Penelope’s chest. She quickly reached behind her back, but the reason it was unzipped in the first place was because she couldn’t reach it properly. No matter how much she struggled now, it was useless.

Just as she was about to look for someone to help, Theodore turned toward her, his expression grim.

“Turn around.”

It took her a second to understand. Her first instinct was to refuse, but then she remembered her entire reason for being here was to get closer to him. Rejecting his help would defeat the purpose.

With that thought, she squared her shoulders and turned her back to him.

At that moment, more eyes fell upon them—sharper, more intense, and far more curious. She sat up straight, a calm and graceful smile on her face, feigning composure.

She thought he would simply zip it up, but the zipper was caught on the fabric. Theodore tugged a few times without success. He had to abandon his lazy slouch and lean in closer to carefully work it free.

His fingertips kept brushing against her skin, making her tense up as if he were doing it on purpose.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally pulled it up.

“You shouldn’t wear dresses like this,” he said, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

“Oh,” Penelope mumbled, feeling wronged. Then it hit her—who was he to tell her what to wear?

Of course, she wouldn’t say that to his face.

“Mr. Stapleton, it seems fate keeps bringing us together,” Penelope said with a small smile.

Theodore ignored her, leaning back and crossing his leg, resuming his idle fiddling with an unlit cigarette.

His hands were large and well-defined, with prominent knuckles that conveyed a sense of power. Penelope couldn’t help but stare for a moment longer than she should have.

“Do you remember Dr. Olson’s orders?”

“Huh?”

“One dose of medicine daily. Avoid cold foods, spicy dishes, and especially alcohol.”

“Are you drunk already?”

“I haven’t had a drop!”

“Then don’t.”

What was happening? It felt like they were having two completely different conversations.

Penelope tried to steer the topic back on track, but just then, someone came over to speak with Theodore.

She cursed inwardly and clenched her fist under the table. Next time, she vowed, she would be the one in control of the conversation.

From their table, the Sullivans watched, their faces turning from green to black, their teeth grinding in frustration. Not only had Michael personally welcomed Penelope, but she was sitting at the head table next to Theodore himself, and they were actually talking.

They, on the other hand, had no such opportunity.

“See? She only got in because of her connection to the Sullivans. But what was the Jacksons thinking? We should be the ones sitting there!” Mrs. Sullivan fumed.

Mr. Sullivan narrowed his eyes. “Zebulon, go over there. Tell Penelope to get up and let you have that seat.”